Beech Tree News Network

Have you ever read Oliver Sacks’ book, THE MAN WHO MISTOOK HIS WIFE FOR A HAT?  Dr. Sacks treated patients with neurological problems like autism and Tourette’s syndrome.  His book is about some of the more extreme cases, like the man who actually mistook his wife for a hat and could not recognize the faces of people he had known all his life.  If I’m not there already, I’m getting there fast.
    Recently…actually since going back to work at New Image…I have confused all kinds of people with other people, and one thing for another, for that matter.  I called Randal, Lloyd; Joe, Tom; and Keith even became Dayton—I know only one Dayton, and he is a child, so who knows where that one came from.  I met the father of one of the guys who works for us, and the very next day confused him for someone else.  And if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, I went to the basement for Pennzoil and came back up with Castrol.  You have to keep in mind, we’ve run that shop for fifteen years.  I haven’t been there every day, but I’ve been there enough to know Castrol isn’t Pennzoil; if the shape of the bottles doesn’t tip you off, the color will—Castrol is in a white bottle, Pennzoil in a yellow.  (Our customers needn’t worry, because the guys are on top of things, always checking the computer screen for type, weight and quantity of oil, before they add.  They sent me right back down the stairs when they noticed I had white bottles.)
There is a theory about the human mind referred to as Tabula Rasa—roughly translated “blank slate”—that can be traced all the way back to Aristotle.  (The modern version of the philosophy is attributed to John Locke.  See his “Essay Concerning Human Understanding.”)  The theory puts forth the idea that at birth, the mind is a blank slate.  Everything added to the mind after birth is the result of experience or the influence of others. No disrespect to Aristotle or Locke, but I’m developing a new philosophy.  I think Tabula Rasa happens much later in life.  In my experience, it happens somewhere around age 60.  My “blank slate” philosophy is more like “blank slate” via “erased slate.”  The old slate is starting to be wiped clean.  People’s faces and names are sliding off the slate.  White bottles of oil are becoming yellow bottles of oil.  The mind is trying hard to adjust by inserting fictitious names—Lloyd for Randal, Tom for Joe, and Dayton for Keith—and superimposing new faces onto other new faces.  I foresee a time when I will mistake Garey for a hat, and he will be reduced to calling his business partner and friend, Greg, to come rescue him from the hook on the hall coat rack where I have hung him.  
     My daughter, Natalie, and my granddaughter, Sabria, also completely fly in the face of the notion of being born with a blank slate, although it will take some years yet to prove my philosophy of “blank slate” via “erased slate” in their lives.
 At a very young age, Natalie had firm ideas about gender roles.  She would make blanket statements about the jobs that should be assigned to men or women.  As parents, Garey nor I ever practiced strict gender-specific roles in front of her.  I always worked out on the farm, and at times, Garey would make and can our salsa or fix an occasional rip to his scuba bag by mending it on the sewing machine.  Once, I asked Natalie who told her that men and women should carry out specific jobs.  She said, “Nobody, I just think it.”
In the same vein of thought, by the time Natalie’s daughter, Sabria, was two years old, she seemed to also have pre-set ideas about the roles of men and women, albeit, they were on the opposite end of the spectrum.  One day, I was playing Little People airplane with her.  I put the pilot in the pilot’s seat and explained his role in flying the plane.  Sabria took the plane from me, threw the pilot into the back of the plane with the luggage then sat the blonde-haired-ponytailed girl in the pilot’s seat and her trusty dog in the co-pilot’s seat, slammed the door and taxied down the runway.
Natalie’s ideas about gender roles were very conservative; Sabria’s, on the verge of feminism; mine, somewhere in the middle.  I can’t speak for everybody, but I don’t think we three women were born with a blank slate.  I, however, will probably die with one.